Today I had a difficult session.
I started talking about how my cousin ran into my biological mother on Monday. She texted me and I felt all the things about it. I told a story. That story turned into another story and another story and then I was talking about the last time my father raped me and how that date is the same date this therapist and I met for our first session and I wore the same shirt today that I wore that day and there were all kinds of feelings and thoughts and after I met her that day I met another therapist and I cried for the entire 45 minutes and shouldn’t I feel something about all of these stories?!
I felt okay while I was talking. Sort of. Spacey, I think. I was really trying to connect with the emotion. I wanted to. I wanted to feel rage and horror at what had been done to me. It was so close, that emotion, but so far away from me. I deserve that rage. But I can’t feel it.
I am frozen.
When I walked out, I knew something was wrong. I felt unleashed, uncontained, ripped wide open. I felt like I’d been cracked open, my raw heart beating to the world. So vulnerable. So exposed.
It felt wrong. I did something wrong. I said something wrong. It’s all wrong.
I am wrong.
I saw my wife during her break at work. I was upset and talking fast. She asked if I wanted to call my therapist later. I did want to call her, so when I got home I left her a voicemail. I asked her to call back if she was available.
She was not available. She never called.
She’s never NOT called before.
There’s rational and then there’s irrational.
I’m just trying not to panic.